


Until Clearer Heads Prevail

by fiddleyoumust



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/pseuds/fiddleyoumust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry shows up at Nick's door after a bender. Nick is a better friend than he really wants to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Clearer Heads Prevail

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [andsparkles](/users/andsparkles/psueds/andsparkles) for looking this over for me. Sorry about the sad lack of porn. :(

Nick’s watching late night telly on a Wednesday night – the kind of telly watching you would staunchly deny should your friends call you out on it – when he gets Harry’s text.

_Are yiu hime_

Harry’s texts are usually perfectly readable with precise punctuation and an irritating lack of spelling mistakes. Harry is either texting while driving--something Nick has lectured him about on numerous occasions--or he’s very very drunk. Nick’s leaning more toward door number two, considering Harry hangs on Nick’s every word and wouldn’t possibly do anything Nick has railed against, and also because it’s half two in the morning on a Wednesday night – Thursday morning, whatever – and it’s exactly what Nick would be doing if he were a teenage pop star. 

_I am, love. Everything okay?_ Nick texts back. 

He doesn’t get a reply right away and is just about to send another text when there’s a knock at his door. He checks through the peep hole and is quite relieved to see Harry on the other side.

“Who is letting famous boyband members roam the halls at this hour? Someone should be sacked,” Nick says by way of greeting.

Harry smiles quite beautifully at him before he steps over the threshold and kisses Nick without so much as a hello.

The kiss throws Nick completely off guard--and not because he’s never kissed Harry before. Nick prides himself on getting ridiculously drunk and snogging all of his attractive friends. He feels like it’s his duty to try them out and make sure they’re living up to their full potential. 

Harry is an excellent kisser, but this is nothing like his usual technique. This kiss is hard and desperate and, Nick almost thinks, _sad_ , before Nick laughs at how maudlin he’s being and pushes Harry away as gently as he can.

“Come inside and tell Grimmy what the matter is.”

Harry gives Nick a miserable look and shoves past him, pulling his jumper over his mess of curls as he goes.

“I didn’t come to talk,” Harry says, starting on his belt next and shoving his trousers and pants down in one go. 

This they haven’t done--and not because Nick’s opposed to it. Only a very stupid person would be opposed to fucking or being fucked by Harry Styles. Nick is not stupid. It’s more that they’re really good friends and Nick supposes they’ve both been a bit apprehensive about ruining something that works so well.

“You’ve got a bit of liquid courage this evening, I see,” Nick says with the steadiest voice he can muster. He thinks it’s quite steady considering that he’s got Harry standing naked in the middle of his living room looking like a very drunk and very naughty angel.

“I think we should fuck,” Harry says.

He starts across the living room and there’s really nowhere for Nick to run. It’s not like he can lock himself in his bedroom and leave Harry alone to be miserable and make bad decisions on his own. Harry kisses him again. It’s bruising. Nick’s lips sting when he pulls away, so he does the most sensible thing he can think of and kisses Harry the third time round. He kisses him softly, trying to soothe instead of hurt, because he has a very small amount of tenderness lurking inside of him and Harry always seems to be able to bring it out.

It’s the strangest thing, this constant desire to take care of Harry when most days Nick doesn’t even want to take care of himself. 

Nick brushes his fingers through Harry’s soft curls and says, “Why don’t we have some water and I’ll see if I can’t find you something to eat instead.”

Harry shakes Nick off and laughs. 

“As if you’ve anything more than poppers, cigarettes, and wine to give me.”

Nick’s not offended. It’s the truth, for the most part. Just tonight, Nick’s dinner had consisted of a choco bar that had gone chalky round the edges, which he found in the crisping drawer of his refrigerator, and a natty bottle of wine that Amiee had bought him for his birthday. 

Nick shrugs and says, “Let’s see if we can’t round up an egg and a little cheese. I’m sure I saw some bread lying about.”

“I don’t want to eat,” Harry snaps. “I want to fuck.”

Nick’s patience evaporates instantly. Harry’s never rude, even with fans who cross lines that are best left uncrossed, Harry is never anything but kind. It pisses Nick off that he’s the person Harry’s chosen to be a grotty little bastard to.

“You don’t want to fuck me,” Nick says firmly. “And even if, I don’t fancy being used like an old tissue. Go off and find some pretty young thing to play with.”

“I’ve already done that! He doesn’t want me. Nobody wants me,” Harry shouts. He collapses onto the sofa looking angry and miserable and so broken that if Nick weren’t already half in love with him, this would have been his moment to fall.

Nick selfishly doesn’t want to know about the boy. He’s already got a pretty good idea, at any rate, and the mere thought that this boy had Harry’s love and walked away from it predisposes Nick to hate the git. But he figures loving someone means sometimes doing things you don’t want to do. Nick can’t be too sure, though. He’s never been the selfless sort. Harry seems to be pushing him to do all sorts of things he never thought he would do.

Nick grabs a throw from the back of the sofa and tucks it around Harry as he sits down next to him.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

Harry shakes his head.

“Why doesn’t anyone love me?” he asks right before he buries his face in Nick’s neck.

Nick doesn’t answer. He just lets Harry have a good cry on his shoulder. He presses kisses to Harry’s forehead and combs his hair off his face and holds him just a bit too tightly. When Harry’s stopped shaking and the worst of the crying’s been reduced to breathy little noises against Nick’s skin, he grabs Harry’s chin and pushes his face back to have a look.

Harry’s nose and eyes are red. He looks a mess--fragile, but also very beautiful. Nick gives in to the urge and kisses him very gently, only pulling back when Harry tries to make it something more.

“We’d best not--and not because I don’t want to,” Nick says, cutting off Harry’s sad little face before the wrinkles in his forehead can truly settle in. “Only a daft prick wouldn’t want to snog you senseless right now.” 

“Then why not?” 

“Because you’re drunk and I’m quite fond of you and don’t fancy you hating me tomorrow,” Nick says. “If it’s what you really want, it’ll keep until clearer heads prevail.”

Harry’s still frowning, but he nods. Nick takes that as his cue to get up. He goes to the kitchen and fills a glass up from the tap, shakes out two paracetamol from the bottle in the cupboard, and takes it to Harry. Harry swallows them all down dutifully and wipes the back of his mouth with his hand as he gives the empty glass back to Nick.

“Don’t make me sleep alone,” he says.

Harry’s voice sounds so small. He makes Nick feel like his insides are made of jelly, like there’s nothing of substance left to put up any resistance to Harry’s request.

Nick says, “All right.”

Harry wraps the blanket around him and follows Nick to the bedroom. Nick strips down to his pants and climbs into bed, watching as Harry stands awkwardly by the opposite side.

Eventually, Nick says, “You’re the little spoon. Come on then.”

Harry drops his blanket and climbs under the covers scooting around until his back is nestled against Nick’s front. Nick throws an arm round his middle and pulls him close enough to bury his nose in the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck.

“Goodnight,” Nick says.

“Night.”

Nick listens to Harry breathing for a long time. 

“You’re wrong, you know,” he whispers, “because I love you.”

Harry doesn’t answer. Nick can tell by the steady rise of Harry’s stomach beneath his palm that Harry is fast asleep. It doesn’t matter anyway. Nick is not quite ready for Harry to know the horrible truth. He presses a kiss to the warm skin behind Harry’s ear and finally allows himself to sleep.

He wakes up in the morning to find Harry’s face very close to his face and Harry’s thumb pressed into his bottom lip.

“Morning,” Nick croaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “How are you feeling?”

Harry doesn’t say anything for long enough that Nick’s palms start to sweat. He finally takes his thumb off of Nick’s mouth and says, “Clear headed.”

“Oh,” Nick says.

It’s possibly still a wretched idea. Harry’s still hurt and fragile with it. They might fuck it all up and end up hating one another. But Nick supposes that’s a possibility no matter what. Maybe the timing will never be right. Maybe it’s just a matter of choosing to make the time.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks.

Nick nods, closes his eyes as Harry closes the distance between them, and lets himself be kissed.


End file.
